


Baby Steps

by Merixcil



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Constantine (Comic), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Classism, I made Alfred an arsehole and for that I apologise, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, aspec character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 01:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13648248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: John finds the case they're working on boring and Bruce anything but.





	Baby Steps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melody1987](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melody1987/gifts).



> Written for the ever wonderful Mel

On its best days, sunset in Gotham is a riot of blood red and deep burgundy boiling across the sky, the ships coming into harbour framed in fire as the sun does its best to piece the mass of greenhouse gasses hanging over the city. If you breathe in deep you can almost taste them.

John loves this city, from its sordid backstreets to its sheet glass skyscrapers. The first time he came here, he laughed, reminded New York’s skyline and Oxford’s backstreets in the same breath. The gargoyles looming over Downtown baffle him in the most wonderful way, and every time he starts to explain that they’re a medieval European design feature, preserved but phased out across the pond, he has to stop himself. Gothamites love their big spooky demon beasts peering down at them from on high almost as much as they love the big spooky demon beast that uses them as its perch.

Standing on the Westward Bridge, looking out to sea, John lights his twenty seventh cigarette of the day and waits for Batman to catch him up. It’s been over an hour since he cleared out the sigils from a Park Row flat that had been systematically eating its occupants over the past six months – a particularly fiendish curse that had taken the best part of the afternoon to get rid of. It cost John the lives of two chickens and a photo of his childhood pet dog.

The sweep was easy enough. John showed up, ran through a more or less standard exorcism and when he was done Batman stopped by to look the place over, saying something about possible connections to an up and coming villain named Firefly.

Not that he knows shit about it, but John would have thought that someone calling themselves Firefly shouldn’t require intensive investigation to track down. He hadn’t seen anything in the flat that looked like it was suffering from fire damage, it had all been far too normal to be normal and rich with the stench of dark magic. It’s going to take weeks to get out of his clothes; this is probably how Nick feels all the time.

The air shifts and a shadow passes overhead. John looks round to see the Batman balanced on the railings, millimetres from tumbling into the sea.

Behind them, the traffic slows to get a better look at the Bat. John suppresses a snort when his companion’s jaw twitches. Batman’s not totally averse to being seen in public but he’s not a fan of it.

“You find anything?” John asks. He takes a long drag on the cigarette and lets the smoke tumble out of his mouth to join the smog hanging over Gotham.

Batman makes a non-committal grunt, which in John’s experience means that he’s found jack shit but will spend the next forty eight hours poring over the case until he’s convinced there’s something there worth looking in to.

“Slow down. I didn’t ask for your life story.” John mutters. Batman’s eyes flick between him and the encroaching traffic. He would look so much less ridiculous if he’d just hop down from the railing.

“Not safe to talk here.” Batman growls. “We should head back.”

“Sounds like a plan.” John takes a final gulp of nicotine soaked gas and, to Batman’s obvious disapproval, throws his cigarette butt into the ocean. “Hey, you mind if I stay the night?”

The noise Batman makes in response could mean anything. He presses a button on his belt and less than thirty seconds later the Batmobile has pulled up next to them. John has no idea how that’s even possible in this kind of traffic and is tempted to check the vehicle over for hidden mysticisms. He drops into the passenger seat and revels in the way the car roars beneath him as they take off north towards Wayne Manor.

 

 

 

The cave is as dark and damp as John remembers. He’s pretty sure it’s not safe to keep a super computer with Justice League destruct codes hidden on its hard drive down here, but far be it for him to question Batman’s methods.

John heads up to the computer hub, where Batman is already syncing the data chips on the cowl with the main servers. He barks out orders in a code John doesn’t understand and the screens flick through high resolution images of the formerly-haunted apartment.

Batman seats himself in front of the screen bank and pushes the cowl off his face. He’s not back to being Bruce just yet, John can see it in the tightness of his jaw and the stony singularity of his eyes, but he looks more like the man than the myth. His hair has some length to it for the first time in years and it sticks up at odd angles. He’s boasting at least two days’ stubble and he looks like he might have lost some weight.

“Can we get Alfie to bring us some snacks?” John asks, draping himself over the back of Batman's chair.

“Call him if you want.”

“He’s your butler.”

With an impatient growl, Batman opens the comm link up to the main house. “Alfred, could we get some refreshments in the cave?”

“Right away, Master Bruce.”

Batman quickly becomes absorbed in the video he took at the flat. He enlarges the picture and ups the white balance and the contrast to hunt for details that might be missed by the naked eye. John squints, trying his hand at seeing something that isn’t really there. Without the weight of demonic magic hanging over it, it barely looks like the same apartment he had excorcised mere hours earlier.

Alfred arrives with a tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea. “Busy evening, Master Bruce?”

“Maybe. We’ve already been out to investigate that apartment I was telling you about with the unusually high turnover.” Bruce replies. And it is Bruce now, he’s relaxed into it, though he’s trying very hard to be Batman in front of John. “Constantine believes that this was an entirely supernatural incident, I’m not so sure. Further investigation is required before we proceed.”

“It _was_ entirely supernatural.” John insists.

Alfred barely spares him a glance. “Will you be taking supper with myself and Master Damian?”

“Maybe.” Bruce grunts.

“Yes!” John cuts in.

Alfred doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s clear as day that he wants to. He doesn’t like John and is mostly awful at hiding it. An Englishman has only to open his mouth for another to despise him and whatever old money enclave the Pennyworths are hiding in, it’s a long way from the streets of Liverpool. John is patiently waiting for Alfred to come up with a reason to look down his nose at him beyond ‘Constantine talks common’.

What’s all the more funny is that John’s seen Alfred bend over backwards to accommodate Zatanna and even Nick gets asked if he’d prefer to be woken with tea or coffee. But with John he doesn’t even ask if he needs to ready one of the Manor’s multiple guest bedrooms. An American accent is a hell of a disguise.

Alfred vanishes back up the steps to the Manor and Bruce zooms in close over some vague scuffs on the living room carpet. “See anything?”

John pours Bruce a cup of tea and shoves a tuna sandwich into his hand. “Look, mate. There’s nothing here that can’t be explained away by the great honking curse that’s been hanging over the place for the past few months.

Bruce stares at the sandwich like he’s never seen one before. “But why would a demon place a curse on this building in particular?”

“I hate to disappoint you, but the demon probably wasn’t thinking all that hard about what it was doing. Demons curse things because they can, it’s just what they do. It’s enough trouble getting them to stop, you don’t wanna go wasting energy finding out what was going through their heads at the time.”

“What would it cost to find out?” Bruce looks up at John with curious fire in his eyes.

John snorts. “More than I’d be willing to pay, and I’m already damned.”

A huff of irritation and Bruce turns back to the console to continue his search for nothing. The light from the screens is harsh and unforgiving, but despite the years putting himself through hell it doesn’t shed light on more than a handful of scars. Bruce’s cheekbones are sharp, his nose barely crooked, his hair still thick and dark. He looks great for a man who’s got to be in his early forties at least. John has met guys who take care of themselves and he’s met guys who don’t have to. Bruce is in a whole other category.

The work is dreary, it leaves far too much time for the mind to wander. John opens his mouth and closes it again immediately. Bruce’s brow furrows as he leans in to examine a blank stretch of wall in the kitchen.

There are bad ideas brewing at the back of John’s mind, soon to be on the tip of his tongue. As far as he’s aware, Bruce doesn’t like men. Bruce doesn’t like anyone much if the blank wonder he graces his never ending stream of young, pretty dates is anything to go by.

“Hey.” John coughs. “Don’t suppose you’d want to go for a drink sometime?”

Bruce doesn’t look up. “There’s tea right there, if you’re thirsty.”

“Nah, I mean like, go out for a drink. I know a bunch of great shitty bars in this city, in pretty much any city to be honest. Or if you’d rather we can go to one of those fancy places the paps are always catching you at.”

Bruce pauses the footage he’s reviewing and turns his attention to John. “What?”

“I’m asking you out.” John clarifies. Because of course the sodding Batman, great detective that he is, is too far  removed from his fellow man to understand basic social cues.

It’s difficult to tell when the only light in the room is pouring off the computer bank in different shades of blue, but John is pretty sure Bruce blushes scarlet. His eyes go wide and his mouth flaps open. “I-“

“If you would be so kind as to make your way to the dining room, supper will be served in five minutes.” Alfred’s voice crackles over the comm.

Bruce glances between John and the computer, doing his best impression of a deer caught in headlights. John’s never seen him so flustered, the Gotham rogues should really dispense with the scheming and start inviting him to dinner.

“I…have to get changed. For dinner.” Bruce settles on, turning away from John in a hurry and vanishing into the dark to change into his civvies. “You go up.”

John laughs to himself as he makes his way up to the Manor. It’s no skin off his nose if Bruce isn’t interested. A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.

 

 

 

The youngest of Bruce’s brood is delightfully opinionated and lacking in tact. Damian is already sat at the head of the table when John arrives in the dining room, wearing a button down and a scowl, back straighter than the chair he’s sitting on. He eyes John with characteristic suspicion and gestures to the chair on his left. “Constantine.”

“Wayne.” John shrugs off his coat and dumps it on the chair opposite Damian before moving to sit at the kid’s right.

Damian smirks. “I assume my father is following behind you.”

“Yeah, he’s just changing.”

Alfred appears from behind what looks to be a secret door built into the wood panelling of the room. He’s in full servant mode, refusing to look either of them in the eye as he places a terrine of rice in the middle of the table.

Damian waits for him to leave before daring to open his mouth again. When he speaks, it’s with the urgency of someone who has a lot to say in very little time. “My grandfather is making moves in Columbia and given the speed with which he is gathering resources I am inclined to believe that he is enlisting the help of forces outside conventional human understanding. Father doesn’t share my concerns but I don’t see why that means I shouldn’t pursue further evidence. I was hoping you might make time to give me a basic education in the magical arts in order that I might continue my investigation.”

John’s laughed in the face of plenty of people who’ve made the same request in the past, but Damian is unbearably serious and takes every closed door as a personal challenge. It’s wise to let him down gently. “Listen, lad-“

“I’m not a lad!”

“Listen, Wayne.” John corrects. “Magic is seriously nasty stuff. You have to give up secrets, pieces of yourself, pieces of other people, pieces of your soul to make it work. I don’t teach this shit to anyone who ain’t up to their eyeballs in it already.”

Damian taps his fingers impatiently on the table top. “Well go on then! Get the whole ‘and you’re too young’ speech out of the way.”

“Wayne, you’ve got more common sense than ninety percent of adults in the business. I wouldn’t hold you back because of that.”

“What are we talking about?” Bruce enters the room looking like he’s gotten his tongue back into place since swallowing it in the cave.

“Your youngest is trying to talk me into giving him demon lessons.” John tells him.

Damian scowls. “That’s not-“

“What have I told you about getting involved with dangerous things you don’t understand?” Bruce tuts, moving to sit at Damian’s left.

“Constantine is misrepresenting my intentions.”

Bruce looks to John and raises a questioning eyebrow. He really is stupidly handsome, like someone brought a Greek statue to life.

“I’m not misrepresenting anyone’s intentions.” John says. “Though if you think he has a point, I’d be happy to do the dirty work myself.”

“Is this about the Al Ghuls?” Bruce asks Damian and when he doesn’t get an immediate answer he barks off something in a strain of Arabic too modern for John to understand.

Damian nods but doesn’t get a chance to answer before Alfred comes back through with a bowl of a rich smelling stew to set next to the rice. Evidently, this is a matter not suitable for the butler’s ears as Bruce doesn’t push the matter until he disappears once again.

The stew smells fantastic, earthy notes of lamb overlaid with the tang of dried limes and a mess of spices that John would be hard pressed to name. Unfortunately, neither Bruce nor Damian start helping themselves and John’s got just enough manners not to start loading up his plate regardless.

“The Al Ghuls have always favoured science over magic.” Bruce explains to John. “I’m not saying they wouldn’t switch tactics in a pinch, but it doesn’t fit their remit.”

“Remits change.” Damian kisses his teeth.

“That doesn’t mean we can go dragging other people into our fights without good cause.”

Alfred finishes up the spread with a tray full of flat breads and a plate of something green that John assures everyone is going nowhere near him. Evidently the stew is something Persian inspired that Damian used to eat as a kid. Or at least, he was a younger kid. As they eat, Bruce questions his son about school and the books he’s currently reading, which are all heavyweight nonfiction texts dealing with high end criminology. If you squint, it could almost be a normal family diner. 

If it weren’t for the Butler, and the paintings of long dead horses lining the walls, and the bone china plates, and the fact that father and son are wearing identical light blue button downs with the collars open and the sleeves rolled up. Bruce and Damian are about four skin tones off looking like clones.

John’s never done much in the way of normal family stuff. He likes how the scene doesn’t feel forced.

He also likes how the fabric of Bruce’s shirt strains around his biceps. John probably shouldn’t be leering quite so brazenly at someone who has indicated that they’re not interested in him but Bruce is so…well…Bruce.

“Is there something on Master Bruce’s face?” Alfred snaps after John has spent a good thirty seconds watching the movement of Bruce’s right dimple.

Bruce reaches for his napkin and John waves him down. “No, he’s just fine.”

A half-hearted flush creeps through Bruce’s cheeks and he shoots John a look that suggests he should maybe save the flirtation for when Alfred’s not in the room.

 

 

 

When they’re done eating, Alfred clears everything away in a hurry and lets the secret door close behind him with enough force to send Bruce’s eyebrows flying to his hairline. Damian says something about wanting to get in a few hours training with someone called Ace before bed and excuses himself. He throws them both an unbearably smug grin as he leaves. “Nice to see you, Constantine.”

“You too, Wayne.” John waves at the closing door.

Bruce’s mouth quirks into a smile. “I see you’re on last name terms with my boy.”

“We’ve known each other for a while, it was time.” John replies. He’s been camping out at Wayne Manor here and there for a couple of years now. He’s met all of Bruce’s eclectic family but as Damian’s the only kid still living here full time, John knows him best.

Bruce grunts in ascension. “We should get back to the cave.”

“Really, Bruce?” John groans. “You’re not gonna find shit, you know that, right?”

“I have to be sure.”

“ _I’m_ sure! Do you not trust my judgement?”

“Surely you know me well enough to know that I don’t trust anybody.” Bruce replies.

“What about Damian?”

“Damian is a thirteen year old boy. I trust him about as far as you can throw me.”

“You have no idea how far I might be able to throw you.”

Bruce stares him down with the same cocked eyebrow from before. Expressive without compromising how attractive he is. John smiles a little wider, Alfred isn’t here to chastise him for staring anymore

So he stares. It doesn’t take long for Bruce to drop the eyebrow and bring up a thumb to worry the corners of his mouth. “If I do have something on my face, I would appreciate it if you told me.”

“No, you’re good. I just…” John takes a deep breath and leans forward, squaring his shoulders. He always needs a moment to psych himself up before having this conversation with straight men who he has to trust are going to take the compliment without getting weird. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but you’re a very good looking man. We’re talking distractingly handsome. Like, you have to wear a mask to give criminals a fighting chance or they’d be on the floor before you could hit them.”

“Oh.” Bruce lets out a bark of nervous laughter. “I see. That’s why you, um…yes.”

“I mean, you seem like a stand-up guy with a decent set of morals whose company I enjoy. But yeah, mostly your face.”

Bruce smiles weakly, the intention to come across as warm is there but it doesn’t quite translate. Which is strange, John thinks, because surely Bruce has been propositioned by men in the past. He should know how to handle himself. “I appreciate your interest, John. But-“

“It’s fine, I get it. I’m not your type. Too male.”

“It’s not that.”

John pauses. “So you’re not exclusively interested in women?”

“My interests are very exclusive but are not restricted to women, no.” Bruce rests his elbows on the table and clasps his hands in front of his face. It sort of looks like he’s trying to hide behind them, except there’s no way the Batman’s alter ego would do that.

His arms tense, highlighting every bulge in his biceps below his shirt. John thinks he might have to ask Nick to start working out, or see if Zee would be willing to go at him in a Bruce Wayne glamour.

Not restricted to women is a good start. “So…” John starts. “Asexual?”

“Not quite.”

“But mostly.”

“More or less.”

“More or less mostly asexual doesn’t exactly match up to your public image.”

Bruce grimaces. “The image was created before I was fully aware of what I wanted. Maintaining it has proven easier and less conspicuous than trying to shift away from it.”

“Well, that explains why you were so flustered by the prospect of a pint.” John falls back in his chair.

Bruce does an excellent job of sticking his nose in the air without moving an inch. “I wasn’t _flustered_ , I just hadn’t considered that you might be interested in me. I don’t like eventualities that I haven’t prepared for.”

“Ah, so you would have jumped straight to the part where you tell me to jog on if I’d given you some warning.”

“No.” Bruce frowns. “You know, if you want to pretend you didn’t say anything that’s fine but if you want to have a conversation about this I would appreciate it if you didn’t put words in my mouth.”

Holding up his hands in surrender, John nods for Bruce to continue. Far be it for him to silence the guy when he’s talking about his preferences, John’s met plenty of Leaguers who have no idea what Batman’s in to.

“You seem to be under the impression that I was on a roll.” Bruce flashes a bemused smile.

“Sure you were! You were just about to explain what you would have said if you’d had time to gird your loins before I popped the question.”

“Well, first of all I would have questioned whether someone with your appetites really wanted to date a man who barely puts out.”

Hearing the sodding Batman say ‘puts out’ is an experience. John knows that Bruce has several alter egos he uses on the street and that in order to make any of them believable he must use slang from time to time, but he’s never actually heard him say anything that would be deemed unsuitable language for BBC news before.

A rush of heat floods the bottom of John’s stomach as he realises there must have been times when Bruce has sworn. His rich baritone cracking over the plosive end of a four letter word. That’s going in the wank bank.

“I dunno, I could probably make it work.” John insists with more confidence than he feels.

“And then.” Bruce continues. “I would have said that while I’m open to exploring whether or not we’re romantically compatible, I’m not at all interested in dating your better thirds.”

“Why who now?”

“Zatanna and Mister Necro.”

“Oh.” John blinks. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the offer might be taken that way. “Well, Zee and Nick aren’t asking you on a date.”

“Did something change? I thought the three of you were living together.”

John tries not to smile, he doesn’t want Bruce to mistake this as some kind of joke at his expense. Bruce doesn’t like being confused. He likes having all the facts at all times, presented in as much detail as possible.

“Yes. Yeah, we are, Bruce. What I have with Zee and Nick is great, I love them both to pieces. But being in one relationship doesn’t mean I can’t be in any others.”

You can practically see the calculations whirling around Bruce’s head as he tries to process this. He opens his mouth like he might be about to say something only to shut it when he thinks better of it. Then he does it again. And again.

Somewhere around the tenth try, Bruce finds his voice. “I wasn’t aware that a person could be in multiple relationships without being unfaithful to any party.”

“Most people aren’t.”

With this new information integrated into his worldview and the thin ice safely crossed, Bruce relaxes. “That certainly explains the behaviour of most Gotham socialites.”

“Just to be clear, I’m not gonna drop them. It doesn’t work like that.” John tells him. Though really, he doesn’t think Nick or Zee would begrudge him picking a guy with Bruce’s bone structure over them.

Bruce nods. “Understood. You should be aware that being in a relationship with me doesn’t mean that I'll alter my public persona or guarantee you’ll move any further into my confidence.”

John shrugs. “Eh, I’m closer to your inner circle than the average Joe. You don’t let just anyone crash in one of your guest bedrooms.”

“Has Hal been complaining about that again?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and lets out an understated snort. When he drops his guard it’s possible to see the laugh lines forming around his eyes. John pinches his wrist to keep from saying something stupid about how he’s one hell of a DILF.

“In answer to your initial question.” Says Bruce. “I would probably enjoy going for a drink with you sometime.”

A date with the Batman ain’t bad for an evening’s work. John grins. “My kind of bar or yours?”

“Name the time and the place and see if you can spot me.” Bruce winks. “Come on, we still have work to do.”

“No, we don’t!” John protests as Bruce heads for the door.

Bruce looks back at him, expressionless and still manages to look like he was cut from a Vogue centrepiece. “You’re welcome to stay up here and spend the evening with Alfred.”

Put like that, it doesn’t sound like John has much of a choice.

 

 

 

Looking through photos of an empty apartment is as much fun after dinner as it had been before. But at least this time John gets his own chair.

There’s nothing there. Bruce keeps zooming in further and further on stained counter tops and asking for opinions on the patterns in the grain. Everything looks like demons to him. John’s five minutes from heading out to exorcise the whole damn city just to prove a point.

Distracting Bruce from his work is nigh on impossible, but that doesn’t mean John’s not going to try. “You should get Netflix.” He tells him, squinting at some sharpie lines on a coffee cup that are definitely not runes. “You’d love it.”

“What exactly would I love about it?”

“Stranger Things.”

“I’ve seen stranger.”

“Sense8.”

“It’s cancelled. No point.”

“Jessica Jones.”

“I encounter enough women in peril in my night job, thanks.”

John groans and collapses across the keyboard. “How do you know so much about these shows if you’re not watching them?”

“I have five children.” Bruce replies without missing a beat. “And you’d be surprised what the wrong person will do because of something they saw on television. It saves me a lot of hassle keeping abreast of these things.”

“I reckon you’d enjoy Bojack Horsemen.” John says sombrely, waving away a close-up of the doorknob to the bathroom.

Bruce frowns. “You’re making that one up.”

“I’m not! It’s just criminally under watched. I’ll show you some time.”

“Is that before or after you’ve dragged me along on a dive bar crawl?” Bruce’s expression is deadly serious but his tone is light. They’ve decided to meet at McNally’s the following Wednesday and take it from there. John is allowed to insist that Bruce consume one alcoholic beverage over the course of the evening, so he needs to pick wisely.

 _Consume one alcoholic beverage_. God. Thing is though, John knows a place, a German style tavern up near Amusement Mile that will do you a five litre sharing pitcher. Assuming they make it that far, that’s where he’s going to shoot his shot. Given how little Bruce drinks, John’s willing to bet that he’s a lightweight.

“I dunno, mate. Whenever you’re ready for Netflix and chill.”

Bruce shoots him a withering look and John doesn’t bother biting back the laugh that bubbles up his throat.

“Ok.” John leans in to Bruce just far enough to get his attention. “See, you said your tastes were exclusive, but that’s not the same thing as non-existent. So…”

Bruce doesn’t look away from the screens. “If that’s information you want, you’re going to have to work harder than that.”

John does a quick inventory of people he knows the Batman has worked with in the past, it’s easier than digging through the endless models Bruce Wayne has hanging off his arm. “Batwoman?”

“She’s my cousin.” Bruce’s wrinkles his nose. “And she’s gay.”

“Huntress?”

“My daughter from a different dimension.”

“Ok, what?” John reaches over to pry Bruce’s hand from the keyboard. Because, really. “That’s a story I’ve gotta hear.”

“That story is for Justice League ears only.”

“I’m part of a justice league!”

“Yes, but not _the_ Justice League.”

“Pfft, that’s just splitting hairs.” John grumbles as Bruce steals his hands back and returns to his work. “Ok, what about that police guy?”

“Jim Gordon?” Judging by the way Bruce’s voice squeaks, John is way off mark. “The man’s like a father to me.”

“Are you related to everyone in this town?”

“No, you’re just picking out the ones I happen to be close to.”

“So anyone you’re close to, you consider family?”

“After a fashion.”

“Jesus.” John sits back. “I better not get too close to you then, or you’ll start calling me your brother and where will that leave us?”

“I’ll make sure to keep my opinion of you entirely non-fraternal.” Bruce assure him. He raps out a line of coding on the keyboard and the screens shift to infra-red. There’s still nothing in shot that looks out of place to John.

John refuses to back down. “Wonder Woman?” Bruce shakes his head. “Superman?”

“No.” Bruce says, firmly, then breaks off into a chuckle. “Though I think he tried to rebound on me when he and Lois were going through a rough patch a few years back.”

“When you say maybe…?”

“He was _very_ keen that we do things together. Lots of puppy dog eyes across tables in public places.”

John imagines Superman in full costume making eyes at an unamused Bruce in some swanky Gotham restaurant. Then he considers how good the two of them would look in bed together and gets somewhat side-tracked. He doesn’t realise that he’s being asked for his opinion till Bruce shakes his shoulder.

Bruce has very nice hands. “Can you see anything in the doorway through to the bathroom?”

“That’s the shower curtain.” John dismisses the odd looking shadow before leaping back into the game. “What about Catwoman?”

“I think it looks somewhat like a human figure.” Bruce leans in towards the screens like the image hasn’t been blown up preposterously huge anyway. “And yes, Catwoman. Very astute of you.”

“You and her ever…” John waggles his fingers in what he hopes passes as a gesture for sex. Bruce ignores him.

Over the next half hour they decide that yes, the shower curtain is just a shower curtain and the infra-red exposes nothing that they haven’t already. They also establish that Bruce has never been interested in The Riddler, Harley Quinn, Vicky Vale, Hawkgirl, Black Canary, Black Mask, Poison Ivy or Swamp Thing.

“Ok, ok, ok!” John bounces in his chair and Bruce groans in exasperation.

It’s his own fault. If Bruce didn’t want to play the game he should have opened up or shut down straight out of the gate. “Really, John-“

“The Joker!” Because the idea of Batman harbouring complex sexual feelings for his nemesis is kind of fantastic. Even if the clown is a shit stain on the face of Gotham.

Bruce rears back, the picture of alarm. “I would _never_.”

“Ok but see, that doesn’t mean you don’t want to.” John grins.

He expects Bruce to bring it in, regain his composure and deny everything. That’s what Batman would do.

But Bruce squirms. His eyes are on the screen but he’s not looking. His spine has lost some of its spirit level straightness and there’s a miserable droop to his mouth.”

“Holy shit.” John hisses. “You actually wanna shag the clown.”

“Yes, but you see, I wouldn’t.” Bruce clarifies.  

Before John can ask about his chances if he were to show up at Bruce’s bedroom door in full clown make up, Bruce sits forward very fast. He’s seen something, for real this time.

“Look.” Bruce waves John forward and points to the screen.

“I don’t- oh.” Imposed over the shrill violets of the UV light, a vague purple outline hovers in one corner of the apartment. Bruce adjusts the contrast till it comes into relief but even then it’s hard to tell what it’s supposed to be. It has several protrusions that look like limbs sticking out of a central mass that could be a head. “That’s not Firefly.”

Bruce shakes his head. “Another demon?”

“Probably.” John runs a hand over is face. He really doesn’t want to have to go through this song and dance again tonight. “You still got the keys to the place?”

“I don’t need keys.” Bruce hits the switch to power down the computer. “I’m going to get back into uniform. You wait in the car.”

John hesitates, watching Bruce vanish behind the screen bank. He could pop his head round the corner, take a look at exactly what’s lying underneath those unnecessarily tight shirts.

He doesn’t, but he could. “How about we grab a drink after?”

“I thought you were planning an alcoholic adventure for my next night off?” Bruce’s voice echoes off the damp walls of the cave.

John shrugs. “We could start with a drink tonight and save the bar crawl till later.”

It’s possible to hear the smile reverberating through the air when Bruce replies. “Work first, John. But you never know, this could be your lucky night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! Come find me on [tumblr](http://jeffersonhairpie.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/chadfuture_)


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